


A New Nice

by PunkTart



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve trying to climb those walls, Teasing, Teen for language, Tony building walls, piano playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkTart/pseuds/PunkTart
Summary: "What the hell is that doing in my building?”"It's called a piano Tony."Tony is having a hard time opening up to Steve as per usual, but this time, with some self contemplation and a grand instrument, he's pushed towards the better path.





	A New Nice

**Author's Note:**

> No idea why I wrote this, but enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated, thanks!

With a mug of stale coffee in hand, Tony nonchalantly strolled towards the large area which was basically the living room for the Avengers. Being overly fond with the layout of the building, he doesn’t even have to pay attention to his route, so he's buried in his phone where he was attempting to manually type with his thumb. Usually, he would just call up JARVIS and have his AI do the typing work, but with JARVIS gone and the new AI still in progress, Tony gets to experience first hand: how a normal person texts. 

His mind being occupied with the annoying auto correct, he almost runs into a large, thousand pound contraption. Ah, a large, shiny, black piano. Gaping at the obstacle, he seeks the source of blame and finds Steve trotting back into the building and snatching the last of the styrofoam and tape that had come with the piano.

"What the hell is that doing in my building?” Tony fires, circumnavigating it cautiously, as if it was a rabid animal.

"It's called a piano Tony, Vision ordered it for Wanda so she can pursue a new hobby," Steve explained, walking over to the beautiful instrument and sitting in the matching, leather, playing chair. "Besides, it's nice to have something to do around here other than 'super hero stuff'."

"So now you're a musical genius?" Tony was seemingly avoiding the instrument now, walking over to the kitchen area and clearing his mug.

"I went to a couple piano lessons when I was a kid, never got too good though," the super soldier gently tapped a couple of random keys and this resulted in disapproving groan and roll of eyes from Tony. 

"What? Why do you hate it so much? I thought you loved music, you always listen to that AB/CD band and-“ Steve paused. “You can sing.”

Tony quickly spun around to face the counter, hiding his face.

"No I can’t."

"Yes you can! Sometimes I hear you singing in your workshop, other times in the shower…”

“Okay, okay shut up!"

Tony, under his breath, cursed Steve’s super soldier hearing.

"You must be deaf. Also, it's AC/DC and no I don't have anything against music it's just that,” Tony pauses, flipping through a book of viable and vague reasons and results with, "Not in the mood." 

"You always say that when you don't want to confront something.” 

Steve was right. Turning around once again, he hides himself from eye contact and occupies himself with filling the coffee machine. Just as he was about to press the boil button, another hand intercepts the contact and presses it for him. 

"Asshole alert.” He spun around, coming face to face with the hundred year old obstacle.

"Tony, you do know that sometimes, talking about yourself is okay, right?” This question came out hesitantly, slowly and cautiously on each word.

"I talk about myself all the time, in fact, I'll do it right now. Tony Stark is so handsome and has such a good sense of style. How can some one look that good and still be a super-genius?" 

"Tony...” Steve whined, then he glanced around to make sure no fellow agents or Avengers came barging in before leaning down and fully hugging Tony. He tightened his hug, and then lifted Tony Stark. A scoff escaped Tony’s lips at how adorable yet annoying the action was, yet he let himself limp and just dangled there in Steve’s arms for a bit.

“Clingy.” Tony remarked. “Ever since this,” he pointed at the both of them, alluding to their relationship. "Started, you've been all nosy."

"Why, I believe that it is a responsibility to make sure my partner is well."

"I am well, can't you tell? Prime of my life, darling.” 

"Then why do you keep closing the door everytime it gets personal."

"Stevie, I don't know what you mean, we get real personal sometimes.” Tony clicked his tongue and winked before turning around, and tending to his coffee once more. Steve just stood there in shock, then recollected himself.

"I mean, when it's about you. I've told you so much about me, I feel like it's your turn-"

"Every one knows enough- more than enough about me. Just go pick up a magazine or watch the news-“ Tony heard his voice raise in volume, and now his body was rigged, defensive.

"Tony I based my first impression of you off of what other people think and I think we both can remember our first meeting-"

"Where we were expressing our confused sexual tension through testosterone fuelled rambling, yes I remember, now if you would let me be.” Tony, with speed, begun striding towards the exit.

"Tony!” Quickly, Steve’s hand flew out and latched onto Tony’s shoulder, stopping his movement abruptly.

“Really, Steve? I'm not up for this right now.” He says, steel cold, his frame stiff, and Steve lets go. 

Steve watches helplessly as Tony slips away from his hand and disappears into the halls. It always irks him that Tony wouldn’t open up about these things, even if Steve already has a basic idea of what he’s feeling, he wants to hear it from Tony. But, Tony either doesn’t think that or plainly doesn’t want Steve to hear it from him. Thought it breaks his heart to think about Tony, capturing and wrestling all his problems away, he decides to give it time. Patience and persistence.

Meanwhile, Tony was desperately trying to burrow back into the safety of his workshop as fast as possible, without spilling any coffee. When he finally takes step into the garage, he shut the door and dimmed the lights. 

He feels like shit.

'I ruin everything like this', he thinks, full of desperation. 'I can’t even open up to Steve, my own fucking boyfriend’. He feels silly and disgusted by his inability to say —or even utter— and single sentence:

“My mom played the piano."

But it hurt even thinking about it. It hurt thinking about hearing her gentle voice accompanied by the instruments when Tony would be playing in his toys. It was agonising to remember the fond warmth of her hands on his as she taught him how to play. It killed him to even scratch on the memories of her praising him and giving him a kiss for playing something well.

‘How can nice things hurt so fucking much?'

Tony collapses into the work chair. His mind goes blank, and out of sheer impulse he turns on the cameras to the living room. Steve was still in there, and he was sat at the piano playing something inaudible. The soldier was focused, his hands graceful, yet still fumbling over the keys.

“Jar- fuck.” Tony reaches over and unmutes the screen.

And in those couple of seconds a soft tune spilled through his speakers. There were a couple of stray notes and a slight problem with tempo, but it was comforting.

It was nice. It didn’t hurt. It was a new kind of nice, from Steve. 

He got up and made his way back up to the room.

“Might as well teach the old man how to really play before someone breaks the thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Have a good day!


End file.
